


A Collection of Poetry

by Nuggetnol



Category: Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys & Sophism (Webcomic)
Genre: (mainly) plot convergent, How does one do fluff in poetry-, Humanity, I haven’t the foggiest clue how to use ao3 so pls have mercy on me, Insanity, Poetry, Symbolism (i tried at least), dont mind me writing 71789 poems on kieran and noone else, kinda just brain dumps of words that rhyme, no real plot, occasional attempts at angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26597137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuggetnol/pseuds/Nuggetnol
Summary: A collection of some short, and some absurdly long poems (because i dont have any self control) on Purple Hyacinth.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. Humanity-54

**“Why are you always drawing?”**

**“Well, have you ever seen those warm moments in life that remind you...**

**_Humanity can be beautiful?”_ **

**“That sense of humanity, I never want to lose it.”**

  
  


My pencil is a valuable thing, 

a counter of my sword,

not a drop of blood - the purest thing. 

A key into these locked floors.

A room which I barely ever clean, 

In which the moonlight makes the cobwebs gleam,

The dust gathers layers upon layers,

Yet this place is the cleanest thing that even my touch can spare. 

Like the autonomous rhythm of breathing,

The act of talk and its flow, 

Familiar like water and it's drinking,

Invigorating, like the touch of first snow. 

It's like everything instinctual,

Like when to eat to not starve.

It's like everything that's infinite.

Like numbers, fractal, and stars.

Its predictable, but not sudden,

Each stoke carving ways in my burdens.

Its graphite tip is as worn as my swords,

Both can be sharpened, but only one can defeat the other in my war.

The pressure and the grating, 

Of this simple shade of grey,

No colours and no mixing,

Just this familiar hue that stays.

Yet even in those monotonous streaks,

Comes beauty, humanity, even if it's ever so weak.

It's like the voice of reasoning inside my head.

_You're not a monster, and your humanity isn't dead._

Compare that to the cold touch of steel on skin,

Its pernickety edges who still kill on a whim. 

The arcs that it carved with its glistening glare,

Are much more permanent than that of a pencil's uneasy tear.

One has given me the name I stand with,

The _Purple Hyacinth,_ the psychopathic sadist.

The one whom kills when children sleep,

Look out, your soul may be the next I reap.

The other preserved the man I once was,

Scratch that, a boy, untouched from my bloody paws.

But just like this room, locked and isolated,

That piece of humanity, preserved in amber, was never meant to be slated.

What do I do in these chambers alone?

Why do I place such effort on work which will never be shown?

I suppose when a monster is finally losing his head,

Humanity cannot be earned, but stolen instead.

Children laughing with hope in their eyes,

Enough money to all feast upon bread and rye,

Another two bickering like toddlers in a daycare,

Unaware of those deeper meanings of trust that even they share,

An intriguing women with the demeanour of an experienced vixen, 

Sly and eccentric yet her disarming smile that pierces through her sheepskin.

And last but not least, a question that remains,

Why on that day the head which hosted those red locks was not cut away,

I suppose it was a reminder that my dear preserved amber,

was leaking its control onto my weapons chambers

Do I regret pausing? Selfishly not. 

For her, this deal would have been better forgot,

But alas, the same cannot be said about me.

Because after all those years, I may have finally discovered what truly is _humanity._


	2. Insanity-N/A

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The opposite of humanity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The person Kieran is talking to is himself, not the leader XD

I’m a monster.

Aren’t I?

A ruthless killer with no remorse.

  
  


I’m not human.

Am I?

I've killed women, children, and lived through it all.

  
  


I’m a demon.

Right?

Always on the news, above others like me.

  
  


I’m evil.

Yes.

That isn't a question that's reality.

  
  


This blood on my hands, Oh when will it be clean?

Its sickly fingers trailing down my histories seams.

He’s a shackle that bounds me,

Oh he’ll never let me free.

Why did he come? Why did he choose me?

But alas I think I've forgotten that I chose him.

He made a cruel deal for he was the devil, and my goodness, have I sinned.

A young boy I was, my hands calloused from drawing,

No experience, no power, just grief and wanting.

I still remember, the sickly sweet scent,

The viscous maroon blanket, from which I can never repent.

He offered me a deal, in the sake of my sanity.

_ Lose yourself. Give up your humanity. _

_ Surrender to me, give in to the urge. _

_ Those feelings of remorse must be purged. _

A foolish naïve boy I was, as I made that stupid regrettable mistake.

I shook his hands and joined him, securely tying our fate.

So what's your name? I asked him.

_ Oh child, don't go down into that labyrinth. _

_ You will choose it when the time will come. _

_ My dearest Purple Hyacinth. _

  
  


However even after years of living within him,

My remorse and regret festered even if it was dim.

Yet he seemed to understand, 

As he planted the soft bloom in my hand.

_ I can not change your emotions, _

_ Whether it disgusts me or even if it doesn't. _

_ Your pity and regret makes you weak. _

_ Now, like this you and I cannot meet. _

_ I will only come now when I am needed. _

_ When your pain is to be suppressed, _

_ Your humanity unheeded. _

_ Alas, I cannot leave as the deal is sealed. _

_ Your soul is split until you cave in, or you can truly begin to feel. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you reached the end again, thank you! This has to be one of my shorter poems. I wrote in less than 20min and didn't have anyone beta read it so ehh heh :| 
> 
> While I usually write my poems to be plot convergent, a lot of the things about Kieran's past haven't been confirmed yet, so this has bits of speculation and fiction mixed in.
> 
> Once again all advice is greatly appreciated!


	3. Victim - 40

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coming to peace with death once you realise that death doesn't want to take you. The thoughts of one of the prison guards before their untimely demise.

I always figured that I'd been the first person to die.

Not like I wanted it. I wanted safety, security, no uncertainty in life.

~~~

Let me ask you, have you ever seen blood?

Red like a crimson shoot? Pooling under the body of a new mute?

  
  


Drip. The congealing mess seeping into the cement.

Drip. Floats in your nose - it's a penetrating scent.

Drip. It touches you.

Warm fingers gripping in resent. 

  
  


Drip. Or perhaps you had a little accident.

Drip. Cut your finger on a kitchen knife. Only a wee bit of blood.

Drip. Unlike the man who lay in front of you, 

peaceful and accumbent.

  
  


Drip. However blood is rather beautiful isn't it?

Drip. Symbolic. One day it will leave us, all at once or bit by bit.

Drip. It can rot in you, turn brown and black, 

or pool out a crevice and oxidise, beginning from the edges of the vat.

  
  


Drip. It's lustrous, a shine like honey.

Drip. It's vulnerable, the oil that keeps our gears running. 

Drip. It's august, like a trophy to wear after war.

However, when blood is mixed with something else, it can mean so much more.

  
  


It was a foolish question to ask. Of course you’ve seen blood. 

But have you seen those purple petals merged within the maroon flood?

  
  


I have seen it. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

Its god awful lustrous shine mirroring its hugged petals in the entirety of your mind.

  
  


_Drip._ The dead man's blood trickled back on him.

_Drip._ It got louder, and closer. Its slender fingers finally closing in.

**_Drip._ **It mixes. But not with those flowers. 

**_Drip._ **You see where the drops are coming from.

Steels menacing glower.

  
  


I always figured that I'd been the first person to die.

Not like I wanted it. I wanted safety, more than ever, when life flashes before your eyes.

  
  


You hear the screams of your body’s agony.

The pain coursing through every artery,

Your eyes flashing to see the last of this life.

To be met with the owner of this sword.

With eyes softer than a blue bell, yet flushed of all light. 

  
  


So he is the one. 

The one who wields this blade. 

The one who’s flowers lie in his wake.

Huh, I never thought he would look so young. 

I thought he’d finish with a grin, like a mutt. 

Not with eyes so devoid of hunger. 

I didn't cry, fascinated, as my comrades mixed blood pulled me into permanent slumber.

It was a curious experience. Ever so calming. Even dying by the blade of the Hyacinth, was not enough for me to forget those lost sapphire eyes as I slowly closed my eyelids. 

Death wasn’t eager.

It didn't want me,

Was I that repulsive?

Or was this all in the mind of the sinner?

I always figured that I'd been the first person to die.

Not like I wanted it. I wanted safety, but perhaps that was truly just a lie. 

Afterall I was the second. And perhaps if I died first, I'd have never come to this realisation.

**_Drip._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted twice today because I was feeling bored-
> 
> This chapter was lowkey born out of me just admiring how beautiful the blood looked in PH. I showed my poetry to my English teacher and she advised on playing around with structure and repetition; this poem was also sort of a test run for those skills.
> 
> Again, not the most plot convergent but oh well :P


End file.
